


ink may stain my skin and my jeans may all be ripped (but i swear i'm perfect for you)

by bellamythology (onemanbellarmy)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6981031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemanbellarmy/pseuds/bellamythology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Bellamy Blake was a hot mess + 1 time he wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ink may stain my skin and my jeans may all be ripped (but i swear i'm perfect for you)

**Author's Note:**

> For [Anya](http://itwontsurvivemee.tumblr.com).
> 
> So this was supposed to be a birthday fic for one of my favorite people ever, but since I suck I just finished it, and I’m gonna cheat a bit and make it a “congrats on 300+” fic too. (Go follow her on Tumblr!)
> 
> Title from The Cab.

i.

Thirty seconds left.

Clarke leaped to her feet with the rest of the home crowd, eyes glued to a familiar jersey as it darted across the field towards the goal, ball in his possession. Her best friend was the only sophomore on the varsity team, but he left no one in any doubt as to how he’d gotten his spot. “Come on, Bellamy!”

Desperate, a Mount Weather defender rushed him in a flying tackle that sent them both to the ground. The ref blew his whistle, but the damage was done: the offending player climbed to his feet, smirking, while Bellamy remained motionless on the field.

Miller was the first at his side, only because Octavia was at a game of her own and Clarke knew his teammates would never let Bellamy live it down if she stormed the field when he wasn’t actually dying right then and there. _But he could be_ , whispered the irrational, treacherous part of her brain. _And you won’t have gotten to tell him —_

 _Oh, shut up,_ she told it, though her pulse didn’t slow until she saw Bellamy struggle into a seated position. He was leaning heavily on Miller, but he was conscious, and even coherent enough to scan the stands. When Clarke caught his eye, he cocked his head in a nonverbal request she had no trouble interpreting.

Getting to her feet, she snatched up her backpack — the first aid kit she kept inside for everyday use likely wouldn’t do his major injuries much good, but it never did hurt to be prepared, and she _could_ do something about the many scrapes and bruises that were no doubt contributing, however minutely, to his pain after a fall like that.

“You okay?” she asked, crouching down to run an eye over his injuries.

“’M fine.” At least he had the sense not to try and wave her off. “Hurts like a mothertrucker, but I’ll live. Right?”

“You usually do,” Clarke agreed, ignoring the way his smirk made her heart turn a somersault. She dug the antiseptic and Band-Aids out of her bag and set to work.  (They’d been here before, all too many times.)

Coach Kane approached, worry etched in every line.

“How bad is it, Blake?”

“Unofficial doc says I’ll live.” Bellamy tried a one-shoulder shrug and sucked in a sharp breath. “Um. Probably won’t be able to take the penalty kick for that debacle of a foul, but — _ow,_ Clarke!”

She slowly removed her hand from his ankle, careful not to jar it in the process. “I don’t think it’s broken, but it might be a few weeks before you can get back on the field.”

He groaned and dropped his sweaty head to her shoulder.

Sympathetic, she ran a hand through the curls sticking to his forehead. “You’re a mess.”

“But I’m _your_ mess.” He nosed at her cheek, affectionate. “ _Best friend_ is a lifetime appointment, Griffin. You’re stuck with me.”

Clarke sighed, hiding the sudden surge of affection with affected resignation. “Unfortunately, it appears so.”

 

ii.

When Aurora Blake opened the front door, her frown lightened only a little at the sight of Clarke in her jeans and glasses, laptop bag slung over her shoulder. “His grades can’t depend _this_ much on his final exams, can they?” she demanded without preamble.

Clarke raised an eyebrow, amused. “Bellamy has all A’s; I don’t think you need to worry about his scores.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about his test scores. I’m worried about my boy. Any chance you can get him to stop obsessing? You know he listens to you.”

“Inasmuch as he listens to anyone.” They exchanged a wry grin. “I make no promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

 “At least get him to take a break? O brought him up a plate of cookies earlier, but somehow I doubt he’s even looked at them.” Aurora sighed as they passed through the kitchen.

Clarke’s eyes widened as she snatched one from the cooling rack. (Snickerdoodles — a favorite shared by all three of them.) “Sacrilege.”

Smiling, Aurora smacked her hand away as she reached for a plate. “Dinner’s in a couple of hours. Besides, I guarantee there’s still a bunch in Bellamy’s room.”

 

“ — lucid right now?”

Bellamy blinked, half a cookie coming into his field of view. Automatically he leaned forward to take it into his mouth, teeth accidentally-on-purpose grazing his best friend’s fingers.

(“A boy and a girl can’t be best friends” probably shouldn’t really matter when you were both bisexual, but still. Spite motivated about 87% of everything they did, whether alone or together; it was one of the common factors that had drawn them together in the first place. Yet some days it felt like they were playing a furtive, drawn-out game of chicken — gazes lingering a little too long, banter a little too flirty, touches a little _too_ intimate for platonic best friends.)

Sure enough, Clarke flushed a little but made no move to pull her hand back, opting instead to poke his cheek. “You awake now? Aurora sent me up for an intervention.”

“Thought you were here to study,” he shot back. “Worried I’ll beat you out for valedictorian?”

“As if. Cram all you want, there’s no way your GPA surpasses mine by the end of the month.” She flicked his forehead and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her onto the bed with him. Willingly she flopped down at his side, pulling out her laptop.

Suddenly she laughed and plucked his glasses away.

“What?” He scowled, reaching for them.

“Next time one of us gets new glasses, we should probably pick different frames.” Still giggling, she slid off her own and offered them to him.

“Not again,” he groaned, pulling them on. “If I could go back in time and tell our eleven-year-old selves that the matching glasses were a bad idea…”

“Hey, don’t knock the nerdy friendship accessories.” Clarke smacked his side lightly. “But seriously, how did we not notice?”

“The problem with doing everything exactly the same way as kids,” he suggested, “is that you end up with pretty much the same prescription. And until one of you notices the dent in the corner —”

“ — from the time _someone_ convinced me it was a good idea to hang upside down from the monkey bars, the very next day after we got them,” Clarke interjected, though she was grinning at the memory. “We were such troublemakers as kids, I don’t know how our parents survived us.”

“And went on to have Octavia and adopt Monty,” Bellamy agreed, butting at her shoulder so she’d pet him. “Study break?”

She grinned. “Mission report: successful.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“Love you too.” She pressed her lips briefly to the top of his head, and this time it was Bellamy’s ears that reddened.

 

iii.

“I think O has a boyfriend.”

Pausing between her bed and awful dorm-issued desk, Clarke pulled the phone from her ear to check the caller ID again. (As if she couldn’t pick out her best friend’s voice from the low murmur of a crowded room.) “Good for her?”

“No, Clarke, you’re _supposed_ to be on my side,” he whined, as though he’d regressed twelve years overnight, back to the bratty seven-year-old he’d been when they first met. “God, she’s a _freshman_ in _high school!_ She’s _fourteen!_ That’s —”

“The same age you were when you somehow, miraculously, got your first girlfriend,” Clarke pointed out as she tucked her cell against her shoulder to pull her jacket back on.

“Is it too late to find a best friend who _hasn’t_ memorized the most embarrassing pages of the novel of my life?”

“Oh good, you’re still a total nerd.”

“It’s only been a few months, give it time. But don’t change the subject! Seriously —”

“Yeah, I’m not holding my breath. Look, Bell, your baby sister’s growing up. And I know for a fact that half the reason you’re going to an out-of-state college is so that you two can redefine your relationship in a healthier, more natural way to the individuals you’re becoming. Your own words, when you were drafting your defense in case she called you out on it.”

“But —”

“Hey, did I tell you that Harper finally asked Monty out?”

“No way. When?”

“Yeah, he texted me last night. You owe me twenty bucks, by the way — he swore me to secrecy, but I promise it was very romantic.”

“You’re not even going to tell me? Clarke, come on! I thought we were best friends!”

She could hear the grin in his voice even as he teased and cajoled, and it made her smile too.

 

iv.

The second she caught sight of Clarke, Raven sighed with relief. “Awesome, you’re here. He’s your problem now.”

“Who-what?”

Raven jerked her head towards the bar. “The birthday boy. Twenty-three and still can’t hold his liquor; it’s getting embarrassing to be seen with him.”

“Yeah, just picture dealing with that mess for sixteen years.”

Raven winced in sympathy. “Practice makes perfect?”

 

“Claaaaaaaaaarke.” Bellamy grinned widely, inhibitions lowered as they only ever were when he was totally wasted. “You’re here!”

“I am here,” she said, amused. “How many drinks have you had?”

He frowned vaguely. “Three? Or … six. Fourteen.”

Clarke had to laugh. “Kind of a big difference between those, Bell.”

“Like that,” he mumbled, leaning dangerously forward towards her.

She steadied him automatically with a firm hand against his shoulder. “Like what?”

“Like when you call me that.”

Clarke’s eyebrows shot up. “Hey, Gina, how many drinks has he had?”

In response, their favorite bartender held up a scribbled list. “I got here in the middle of the party, but Raven figured you’d want to know so she had Wick keep track. I’ve just been adding on.”

“Thanks.” Clarke glanced over the  paper with a sigh. “Seriously, Bell?”

His brow furrowed as he tried to construct a justification. “It’s — ’ts my birthday. Gina —”

“Don’t give him another one. I’m cutting him off.”

After Gina left to check on their other friends, Bellamy pouted at her. “No fair, Clarke.”

“Life ain’t fair, Blake. Anyway, you too far gone to talk about your thesis? How’s Pike?”

Bellamy didn’t even scowl at the mention of his asshole advisor, and Clarke took it for the sign it was.

“Okay, let’s get you home.”

 _That_ got a scowl, though it quickly dissolved back into that huge, goofy grin that did strange things to Clarke’s heart.

 

v.

Someone knocked on the door.

Clarke frowned into the silence — she didn’t think they’d been expecting anyone, and none of their friends were polite enough to wait so patiently even when they dropped by unannounced.

Her surprise and confusion were not at all resolved when she opened the door to find Bellamy on the other side, one hand behind his back and the other in his own hair, tugging at the mess it had become while he was out.

“Forgot my keys,” he explained with a sheepish grin, nodding at the bowl on the hallway table. “Or I would’ve snuck in and surprised you.”

“Well, consider me surprised.” Clarke raised an eyebrow, taking in the paint on his jeans and leaves in his hair. “What on earth have you been doing?”

 “I wanted to — um, can I show you something?”

“Sure.” Careful to snag her keys, Clarke followed him back outside.

Once they were in the courtyard of their building, he revealed the flowers he’d been hiding — more a bunch than a proper bouquet, like the kind little kids gave the people they loved. “Sorry, should’ve given you these earlier so you could leave them inside. Or something. Or you could just toss them, that’s cool too. Or, I mean, I’d rather you didn’t, because it took me a while to find them, but if you —”

“Bellamy.” She laid a hand over his. “Breathe. What did you want to show me?”

He didn’t reply, so after a few seconds she looked up. And blinked.

There stood several of their friends, holding posters.

“You said the other day that you, um, still kind of wished you’d been asked to prom,” Bellamy said, mischievous grin restored. “Or that you’d gotten to ask someone, of course. Boy-asks-girl is antiquated, we’ve always agreed on that. So anyway, you were complaining that no one would’ve gone with you because … um, because of me. Since everyone kinda thought we were together?” When she only gaped at him, he rambled on, “And, um, I know for a fact — because I’ve almost always been there myself — that no one’s ever put much actual effort into asking you out, it kinda just happened. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But, um, I kinda figured maybe it wasn’t what you wanted, and since I’ve already taken so long, I thought I might as well spend a few extra minutes to do it right.”

“Are you —?”

“You should probably let him finish,” Octavia cut in. “He’s been planning this for _days_. Pulled an all-nighter drafting his speech.”

“Shut up, O.”

“Like it’s not true.” She winked.

Ignoring his sister, he took his best friend by the shoulders, deliberately making and holding eye contact. “Clarke Griffin, you’re my best friend, my favorite person, my other half. You’re the only one who’s seen me at my absolute worst and stuck around to get me back to my best. You’re the light of my life, and, um — everything I’ve ever wanted or needed. It’s —” He huffed, suddenly losing composure. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

She reached for his hand, and he certainly didn’t resist as she intertwined their fingers. “Of course, you idiot.”

“ _Your_ idiot.”

Grinning, she tugged him in by the back of the neck with her free hand, gripping his curls the way he liked. “And my hot mess,” she murmured, grinning, against his lips.

Who was he to argue with that?

 

+1.

“You’re surprisingly calm right now.”

Bellamy didn’t turn, though he did look up to make eye contact with his sister in the mirror. “You know me, I’ve been planning this for like twenty years. At this point it feels like just another iteration of the same dream. It’s surreal, actually. How’s Clarke?”

“Believe it or not, she’s actually napping right now.” Octavia grinned. “She said if she was awake, she was just going to freak out until she walks down the aisle. So this is her brilliant alternative.”

He smirked. “If it were literally anyone else telling me this, I’d say something about how it’s just as well since she wont’t be sleeping tonight, but, well.”

“Gross, Bell.” Just as expected, she smacked his shoulder. (Then immediately straightened his lapel. He needed to look nice, today of all days; Blake family pride was at stake here.) “So, it’s your day.”

“ _Our_ day.” His smile softened. “Yeah.”

Octavia’s phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her bra to check. (Bridesmaid dresses, like all women’s clothes, regrettably lacked pockets.) “Almost time. I’ll see you out there.” She hugged him tightly. “Congratulations, big brother. Love you.”

“Love you too, O. Go make sure my fiancée doesn’t run, would you?”

“She’s not going to, she loves you too. Goodness knows why.”

He grinned. “I know.”

 

“So, I kind of expected you to be more of a mess.”

“That’s exactly what my sister said.” Bellamy grinned, squeezing Clarke’s hand. (His cheeks were probably gonna fall off at some point; he hadn’t stopped smiling since he arrived. Considering the tradeoff, he was more than okay with it.) “I’ve been thinking about this for so long; I think I might still be in shock that it’s actually happening.”

“Believe it, babe.” Clarke grinned and smacked a kiss to his cheek. “You’re stuck with me now. No going back, Mr. Blake-Griffin.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Mrs. Blake-Griffin.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to [me](http://bellamythology.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


End file.
